


the romantic's guide to astrolabes

by venvephe



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Magical Realism, Mutual Pining, Non-Linear Narrative, Slow Build, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 18:34:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17229077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venvephe/pseuds/venvephe
Summary: Jamie half-shrugs as he gets himself comfortable, meeting Tyler’s eyes with that small smile that’s just for him. “I just wanted to make sure I had some time with my favorite liney before the holidays. It’s only gonna get busier from here on out, you know.”“Yeah,” Tyler says, trying to ignore the heat that floods his cheeks at Jamie’s words. “Yeah. Don’t, uh - don’t let Rads hear you say that.”Jamie’s smile turns into a full-blown grin. “Please, like anyone would say otherwise, at this point.”And, yeah. At this point, Jamie and Tyler are a matched set.Well - almost.





	the romantic's guide to astrolabes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [angelgazing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelgazing/gifts).



> Happy Holidays, angelgazing!!
> 
> I'm delighted to share this, one of my favorite tropes and favorite pairings, which I haven't written together before. All my love to Jen and Sarah, who helped me tackle what ended up being an interesting challenge in terms of style and just straight-up getting these boys to cooperate. This fic is so much better for your cheerleading and advice.
> 
> Enjoy!

“So,” Devin flops down onto the bench next to him at practice, still panting heavily from the shift of passing drills. “What do you think you’re gonna get this year, eh?”

“For Christmas?” Tyler’s lips quirk up into an easy smile; leave it to Devin to be asking about everyone’s Christmas list. Between him and Jamie - a Christmas evangelist if Tyler’s ever met one - it’s hard not to get into the spirit this time of year. Devin himself, with his pink cheeks and bright eyes, is practically elf-like.

“Not for Christmas,” Devin nearly rolls his eyes, like Tyler’s intentionally missing the point. “On the Solstice! Markday’s only a few weeks away.”

Tyler blinks. Markday. That’s right. December 21st. He hasn’t - really thought about it.

He schools his face so that his smile doesn’t drop - not while Devin’s looking, even as he’s suddenly, achingly aware of how his ribs move as he breathes, in and out. In and out.

“Oh,” he says, finally. Lets the words fall casually off his tongue. The cold air in the rink burns his lungs. “I guess I’ll have to wait and see.”

 

-

 

His first mark seared itself onto his skin in March, only a few months after his eighteenth birthday. The spring Equinox Markday. He remembers it well - how could he not? First marks always make a big impression.

And, anyway, he’d been expecting it.

It wakes him up from a doze, a bright pain that flares from a mild itch under his skin into a flame that licks across his arm in a matter of seconds, making him gasp into the chill night air with wide, unseeing eyes. His fingers spasm and clench in the sheets as the mark etches its way upwards along the outside of his bicep; he can feel the intricacy of the pattern, how it swirls and forks and bends. The pain disappears nearly as quickly as it began and he lays there, panting, as his skin tingles with residual heat and inexplicable nerve-electric energy. It’s a few minutes before he tries to move - everything about his left arm feels tender and bruised and burned-skin sensitive. He eases himself out of bed gingerly, like he’d taken a bad hit into the boards.

Feels almost like that, actually, besides the churn of nervous excitement in his stomach.

Tyler squints in the harsh light of the bathroom, turned to the side so he can examine the design on his skin. His first mark.

It’s blood-hot when he runs his fingers over it, as gently as he can - the dark swirls of a human heart, nearly the size of his clenched fist. A tree sprouts from the top, branches arching and twisting all the way up to his shoulder.

He smiles to himself. He knew it would be a tree - all Seguins end up having a tree. He just wasn’t sure what it would look like, exactly. But there it is, huge and spanning his arm elbow to shoulder, monochromatic besides the pink flush of newness.

It’s perfect.

-

 

That first one hurt the most. Maybe it’s a function of how much skin it covers; the smaller ones don’t seem to sting as badly. But maybe he’s just distracted - with the pace of hockey, he barely remembers when they’re nearing a Markday unless someone says something, or his sisters text him. Maybe he’s also just gotten used to the bruises and aches and little twinges of pain, so the marks coming in aren’t as easy to notice.

Still: he doesn’t like waking up to new marks on his skin that he didn’t feel come in. Not when they’re so important.

 

-

 

The years in Boston give him this: a sailboat - main and headsail blown full with wind, tilted just so - a brown paw print, the CN Tower, a four-leafed clover, a Brampton street sign, and the Stanley Cup.

That last one isn’t actually a mark.

He’s too impatient to wait another month after they win the finals, determined at nineteen to forge his own destiny - so he goes with Marchy and gets it tattooed on his ribs, neat lines of letters to celebrate the occasion. _Stanley Cup Champions._

“How ‘bout that,” he says, peering down the length of his own chest at it, when it’s done. Brad laughs at the wonder in his tone, but not in a bad way - he just leans over and ruffles Tyler’s hair, hopping up onto the chair to have his done next.

It’s a little weird to see something written on his skin; marks are almost always images, not words or names or numbers. It’ll take a little while to get used to - not that he can still wrap his mind around it, that the cup is theirs, that they did it. The week following the win is still a bit of a blur, but he feels fully awake now. Awake and alive and full of this _something_ that hums underneath his skin, now reflected by the words inked onto it.

And that’s what marks are all about, right?

 

-

 

Two years later, Boston also gives him a broken heart.

It’s dead in the middle of summer, though. The mark for that doesn’t come in until later.

And, of course, it’s not actually a broken heart that gets etched onto his skin. He already wears his heart on his sleeve - literally and figuratively. Tyler thinks that’s probably more than enough, and mercifully, his subconscious seems to agree.

 

-

 

“Hey,” Jamie jogs to catch up to him as they get in line to board the plane. Tyler grimaces at the chill in the air - yeah, it’s December, but Dallas shouldn’t be getting this cold - and wishes he had a free hand to pull his beanie further down over his ears. At least they’ll be on the plane in a minute. “Mind if I…”

“Yeah, sure,” Tyler says easily, gesturing as best he can with a bag slung over his shoulder and another in his hand. He can’t resist raising his eyebrows at Jamie. “Finally giving me the time of day, eh? Sure the kids don’t need your attention?”

Jamie rolls his eyes a little; the flush on his cheeks is probably from the wind, but hey. Tyler likes it, doesn’t mind if it’s from his teasing. Likes to think that it _is_ from his teasing, actually. “They’ll be fine for a few hours. Can’t get into that much trouble.”

“You must not remember what it was like being a rookie,” Tyler laughs, following Jamie up the stairs and onto the plane. They bicker good-naturedly all the way down the middle aisle, to a pair of seats Jamie deems worthy and slides into, looking expectantly up at Tyler to follow.

He does - he always does. Just like he always has to drag his eyes away from Jamie’s forearms when he unbuttons his cuffs and rolls his shirtsleeves up to his elbows.

“So I just -” Jamie cuts himself off to gesture vaguely in the air in front of him, distracted by texting his mom and putting his phone in airplane mode. Tyler sits, biting the inside of his lip to tamp down on his smile. Jamie lets the the words linger in the air, pecking out a message with his giant hands around the tiny screen of his iPhone. He’s squinting, careful to type exactly what he means to say.

Tyler can’t help it; it’s so endearingly _Jamie_. Thinks the rookies could use a little time on their own, still texts his mom that their plane is taking off in a few so she doesn’t worry. The ache under Tyler’s chest throbs a little, but it’s a soft ache. Softened by time. He grins at the side of Jamie’s head, waiting it out. “So, you just what?”

Jamie half-shrugs as he gets himself comfortable, finally meeting Tyler’s eyes with that small smile that’s just for him. “I just wanted to make sure I had some time with my favorite liney before the holidays. It’s only gonna get busier from here on out, you know.”

“Yeah,” Tyler says, trying to ignore the heat that floods his cheeks at Jamie’s words. “Yeah. Don’t, uh - don’t let Rads hear you say that.”

Jamie’s smile turns into a full-blown grin. “Please, like anyone would say otherwise, at this point.”

And, yeah. At this point, Jamie and Tyler are a matched set.

Well -

almost.

-

 

Tyler got his first mark for Jamie less than a year into his tenure in Dallas. He was still living in the same buildings as the Benns at the time, remembers the weird flush of happiness and pride when he’d met them at the elevator for practice the next morning and noticed Jamie rubbing at a spot on his arm, a thoughtful look on his face that bloomed into a smile when he saw Tyler. It was winter - yeah. The solstice. He remembers being bundled up against the chill, which in Dallas never really means much.

That was when Jamie had gotten the lighthouse.

He knows that it’s, like, not _just_ for him, but he likes to think that he inspired it. Jamie had to explain to him that the red-crowned white tower and squat, crimson building was an actual lighthouse in Victoria, but he’s never had to explain the meaning. That goes without saying - Jamie’s a natural-born leader. He’s good at making guys feel at home, feel welcome in their locker room and on the team, making sure everyone gets what they need to hear from him.

And for Tyler - Jamie _had_ been his lighthouse on an uncertain sea.

That’s why coming back to Dallas at the start of every season, coming back to _Jamie_ , feels like coming home.

There’s an anchor on the back of his arm to prove it.

 

-

 

“At this rate,” Jamie says, unable to get his wide grin in check, “you’re going to have _another_ paw print mark somewhere on your body. I’m gonna start a betting pool with the boys on where it shows up.”

“Oh, shut it,” Tyler rolls his eyes, cuddling Cash closer to his chest. He’s on his back in the grass; they’d been playing tug-of-war when the puppy had crawled on top of him, passing the fuck out as he tried to nibble at Tyler’s beard. It’s the most goddamn adorable thing Tyler’s ever seen. “You’re just jealous that _you_ don’t get the sleeping puppy.”

Marshall huffs, leaning his head back as Jamie scratches at the base of his ears. The lab looks nearly as blissed-out as Tyler feels, basking in the late summer sun.

“He _is_ pretty cute,” Jamie admits, shifting a little closer so that he can pet Cash at the same time, so Marshall doesn’t complain about the lack of attention. His bare knee touches Tyler’s side. “Think he’s gonna grow up to be as big as Marshall?”

“Probably,” Tyler says easily, smiling at the puppy on his chest. He’s a little thing now, with a whip of a tail and too-big paws, but that’ll change quickly. “As big as Marshall and as handsome as his dad! They both get it from me, you know.”

Jamie smiles down at him. The afternoon sun is caught in his hair, turning the strands falling into his face caramel-golden. Jamie’s eyes crinkle at the corners, and something bright fills his chest.

“Yeah,” Jamie says. “I know.”

 

-

 

He’s gotten a little better at managing it. The ache-under-the-ribs thing. The being-in-love-with-Jamie thing. It’s definitely a _thing_ , but he _has_ gotten better at it over the years. Tyler likes to think he’s grown like that.

But then -

“Our personalities bounce off each other. When I first game to Dallas, he was super quiet and I was super loud, and I think I got him going a bit and he kinda tamed me.”

Oh, god. Maybe he shouldn’t be allowed to do radio interviews like this. Once he’s on a roll, he can’t seem to stop.

He never seems to be able to stop talking about Jamie.

“That’s probably the easiest way to describe it. You know, we just push each other - we both have a competitive drive, we both want what’s best for this team, and we’re both kinda growing up with each other, I guess.”

The compass rose on his shoulder itches a little, a tickle under his skin. It’s the third tattoo he’d gotten in Dallas, two years after the first. Tyler tries to focus on his words, on his replies to the question, and not the fact that he’s thinking about _Jamie, Jamie, Jamie_. Tries not to picture the mark in his mind, romantic and a little sepia-toned, how well it sort-of matches with the roses that had bloomed on Jamie’s forearm the fall Equinox Markday after Tyler himself had gotten the compass.

“I was pissed off. I mean, that summer I had probably the most grown up summer I’d had up until that point, and it was definitely a maturing process. Just being traded, having that chip on your shoulder, being angry, you know. But at the end of the day I still can say it was the best thing that’s ever happened to me, coming to Dallas, being traded here, so I guess everything happens for a reason, but I’m glad it all worked out.”

The mark itches, and as Tyler speaks, without really noticing, he’s started to scratch.

 

-

 

There’s probably no other profession on planet Earth where the status of your body is so thoroughly, publicly, everybody’s business, Tyler thinks. Well - maybe porn stars. But porn stars don’t have million-dollar contracts and insurance policies and entire fan-bases obsessed with how well their hands can do what they need to do.

And that’s not even mentioning the obsession with professional athletes’ marks, and what they mean about players having their heads in the game.

Anyway: part of the life of a professional athlete is having your body professionally scrutinized by trainers and doctors and massage therapists. _They_ don’t really care about marks, of course. They care that Klinger’s hand is on the mend and won’t be further injured once he starts playing again, and when Carrick will be able to put his full weight on his foot. They care about diet plans and practices that push them to get stronger without causing more harm than good. They care about the team being in their best condition so they can _play_ their best. That’s their _jobs_.

The team, though - hockey players are universally known to be nosy.

Part of it’s the nature of the locker room dynamic; their bodies are always on display, intentionally or not, and they’re all pretty blase about nudity. Marks, though - marks are an unending source of gossip and speculation. Tyler can think of half a dozen times in the past few years that a new mark has dominated locker-room conversation for weeks after it had first appeared. He wasn’t sure if Klinger was ever going to let Esa live it down, when a golden-hued lion - a memorable symbol of Sweden - appeared on the Finn’s left shoulder.

So he’s not, like, _bothered_ by Devin’s question. All things being equal, it was about as polite as hockey-player nosiness gets, in Devin’s typical, affable way.

But it does make him wonder.

 

-

 

“Got a new one, Bennie?” Rads gestures to Jamie’s bare torso as he strides towards his stall, fresh out of the shower.

Water’s still dripping onto his shoulders, hair slicked back and out of his face; it’s March, so it’s cold outside, but the showers are always turned so hot that it makes Jamie’s skin a pleasant pink that lingers on his skin. Somehow, it makes the faint dusting of freckles on his shoulders stand out even more.

Tyler finds himself noticing these things more and more often.

Jamie half-shrugs, doesn’t make too big of a deal out of it, but Rads has immediately captured the attention of the room. Tyler’s already so attuned to Jamie’s every movement that he would have noticed eventually, even _without_ Rads pointing it out, but now the rest of the team is listening, too. Watching, out of the corners of their eyes.

It’s not malicious at all; of course not. The camaraderie on the Stars is the best of any team Tyler’s ever been a part of. But there’s a part of him that wants this for himself.

It’s maybe not a small part of him.

Rads smiles knowingly, eyes cutting across to Tyler - who looks away, knows he’s caught. He concentrates on getting all his gear together as Jamie changes, getting only glimpses and snatches of Jamie’s bare skin.

Tyler can feel the heat in his cheeks, fumbles once, twice on re-lacing his skates before he gives up and just tosses them in his bag.

 

-

 

He _wants_. That’s the problem. He wants every one of Jamie’s new marks to be for him, from now until forever. He wants to wake up with Jamie’s marks on him, too, wants to cover the both of them with color and light and pattern that shows the world how much they are meant for each other. He wants to scoop out the ache in his chest and fill his hollow places with the warmth he gets when Jamie gives him that small, private smile.

Jamie makes him feel like that all the time. He wants to make Jamie feel like that, too.

 

-

 

Jamie has the same number of marks as Tyler has, despite being a guy that’s overall pretty quiet. When Tyler had first arrived in Dallas, they’d been at the opposite ends of the spectrum when it came to being open and social. Maybe that’s why it had surprised him, the first few months in Dallas, to see the richly-colored marks covering Jamie’s skin in the locker room.

He’s got a baseball on his left arm, a pair of crossed hockey sticks on the back of one calf. An eagle with wings outstretched, flying over a frozen pond. Stylized, curling clouds in black and white. A fletched arrow. A brown bear.

Tyler tries not to look, whenever there’s a Markday, whenever they come back from the summer apart. It’s been a pleasure, watching the new marks come onto Jamie’s skin as he grows into his captaincy, becomes more strong and sure of himself, a true leader and a true friend.

Jamie has tattoos, too. _Brothers_ , across one forearm - matching with Jordie, which Tyler can’t be jealous of. The number 14 in an old-fashioned font - which, c’mon, he couldn’t let Jamie get away with that one without teasing him at least a little. But Tyler remembers every moment he’s spotted a new mark on Jamie’s skin, the sudden trapped-butterfly feeling in his chest that he’d gotten.

A crimson lighthouse. A dusky pink rose against vivid green leaves. A nautical star.

Tyler tries not to let his heart linger on the hope that maybe, one day, they’ll both wake up with marks that match.

 

-

 

“Listen,” Daddy starts, gesturing dramatically with a french fry. Tyler can always tell when he’s about to go on a roll and give him Life Lessons, or whatever. He gets like this sometimes, halfway through the season. “If life was simple, we’d get marks of the stuff that we like, just - whenever it happened. No metaphors, no guessing. You’d probably get a cheeseburger or a snapback on your arms.”

Tyler raises an eyebrow and chews, grinning. “What’s wrong with snapbacks?”

“ _Nothing_ ,” Daddy rolls his eyes. “Don’t you have a single romantic bone in your body? Life isn’t simple, neither are emotions. Neither are marks. Take them as a blessing, man. Having a lot of them means you’re growing as a person and stuff.”

Tyler sighs. “I just mean - wouldn’t it be easier if we got names, instead of marks? Puzzling out what they mean would be a lot easier, if we got words. The soulmate part, at least.”

Jason shrugs, crunching down on another fry. “Different marks mean different things to everyone. Hell, marks can mean something different to the _same_ person, when you look back on something in your life from a new point of view. You should know that better than most.”

He looks up from his burger - Daddy’s giving him a gentle smile, tilting his head a little to the side; he didn’t mean it unkindly. And it’s true, actually. The small, windswept sailboat on Tyler’s back means something different now than it did in Boston two years ago.

“I’m just saying,” Daddy continues, his smile growing wider and eyebrows waggling. “Give it time, and keep an open mind. Not all love stories are hearts and cupids. You guys’ll figure it out.”

Tyler’s cheeks flush. “Thanks, I think.”

“Anytime,” Jason says easily. “Spare me the details when you finally get together, but until then - anytime.”

“What,” Tyler smirks, “don’t you want to hear about the _single romantic bone_ in my body? I promise it’s a big one.”

Daddy laughs so hard he nearly chokes on his milkshake.

 

-

 

They’re never together in June for the summer equinox - it’s too far after the season ends ends for them. They’re both already home, separated by time zones and miles instead of only a few streets.

When a new image brands itself onto his skin, he lays awake and wonders if Jamie’s skin is burning with color, too.

 

-

 

They’ve only ever really talked about them once. The marks that they’ve gotten since Tyler moved to Dallas, that is.

Tyler’s heard some of Jamie’s stories - from Jamie himself and from Jordie, that give context to some of his marks. Baseball was a family thing, not just the sport Jamie loved; his mark is as much for his dad and grandfather as it is for his own love of the sport. The eagle and pond are from his BC childhood, though Jamie doesn’t give many other details about those two. He doesn’t seem to mind questions at all about his tattoos, even though he’s a pretty private person.

New Year’s Eve 2017 finds them side-by-side out by the pool, catching a moment of quiet to themselves and escaping the heat and noise of the Stars party inside. It’s really rocking in there; Tyler grins to himself as he sips from his glass, listening to the music and laughter. It’s nice to have all his boys under one roof.

It’s just as nice to have Jamie out _here_.

“Any resolutions for the coming year, Jameson?” Tyler asks, smiling up at the face of the moon. It doesn’t reflect well on the surface of the pool, lit aqua-blue from underneath. But the moon is bright and white and nearly full, a pale, round disc on the dark carpet of the sky. The inverse of a puck on ice.

“Resolutions?” Jamie glances at his face and then looks up at the sky, cradling a beer with both hands. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

Jamie’s cheeks dimple when he smiles to himself, and Tyler has to look away, duck his face and hope that Jamie can’t see his blush. He looks beautiful in the moonlight, silver-tinged and softened, somehow.

Tyler knows to wait Jamie out. In a lot of ways, he’s not as quiet as he seems upon first impressions - well, especially now, after years of exposure to Tyler’s outgoingness. They’ve balanced each other out, in that way. It fills him with warmth to think about.

“What I want for 2018,” Jamie starts and trails off, reaching a hand up to smooth over his beard. His voice is soft but clear as a bell, even with the ruckus of the party behind them. “I just - _we’ll prove them wrong_ , remember?”

“I remember,” Tyler smiles to himself, letting Jamie’s words wash over him, trickle down his spine as heat floods his cheeks. If he sounds fond and wistful - well, it’s New Year’s Eve. He’s allowed to be. He’s allowed to sip at his beer and watch his best friend lick his lips in the moonlight, lean a little closer to hear him over the muffled noise of thumping bass and the faint lapping of water in the pool.

“Yeah. That’s what I want,” Jamie murmurs, eyes drifting away from the moon to meet Tyler’s gaze. He’s almost weirdly insistent, intense about this. “God, you - it’s always been you and me, you know that, right?”

“Of course,” Tyler says immediately, shuffling a half-step closer so that he can bump Jamie’s shoulder with his own. The drinks he’s already had - not many, it’s still before midnight - have him just off-balance enough that Jamie reaches out and cups his elbow to steady him. Heat flares in Tyler’s gut. Just Jamie’s presence is a little intoxicating. “You and me.”

Jamie doesn’t know what he’s doing to Tyler, with these soft hands and soft words.

“Yeah,” Jamie squeezes his elbow. His eyes are dark, and he’s so, so close. “It’s just - I wish I could _show_ you right now. It’s the roses, and the lighthouse, and the _sun_ \- ”

Tyler’s nearly dizzy with the images that flood his mind - Jamie’s marks, the ones he’s gotten in the last few years, rippling on his skin. “Jamie,” he says, trying to swallow around his heart in his throat, “you - ”

“You’re gonna miss it if you stay out there, boys!”

Spezza’s voice cuts through the moment like a knife. They turn in unison; Tyler hadn’t even heard the sliding door out to the backyard open, but it’s obvious now with how much louder it’s suddenly gotten. The party sounds even more raucous, now that it’s even closer to midnight.

“C’mon, they’re asking for you!” Spezza grins, beckoning them back inside with his wine glass. “Wouldn’t be ringing in the new year without all the team dads present.”

Tyler blinks himself out of his daze, glancing at Jamie - whose hand falls from his arm as he dips his chin, gives Jason a shuttered smile.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tyler finds himself saying, following Jamie back towards the house. The line of his shoulders is taut, and something in Tyler’s stomach simmers. He cracks a smile as he passes Spezza, clapping him on the shoulder. It’s not really Spezz’s fault that he interrupted - whatever that moment was going to be. “Can’t have that, can we?”

The images of Jamie’s marks linger in his mind all the way through the countdown. The roses. The lighthouse.

He can’t have that, can he.

 

-

 

The full moon comes in on his collarbone, on the soft place just below where his neck and shoulder meet, right on time in the third week of March.

Tyler squints out the window, looking up at the dark sky over Dallas. Tonight the moon is a scant thumbnail, a pale crescent hanging low over the city.

He presses his cool fingertips to the mark. He knows exactly what - who - it’s for.

 

-

 

The thing is - he might be okay with this. It might be enough for him. He could - he could try to let it be enough for him, this intertwined best-friends-not-soulmates-but-almost thing with Jamie. Best friends is big, especially when their marks seem like they are so complementary. Neither of them would deny that they are an important force in the other’s lives. They haven’t - said as much to each other, really, but Tyler knows it.

But he’s carried this little ember of hope in his heart for so long - for years, gently trying to keep and coax it without burning himself in the process.

He can’t stop picturing what they could be, stoking the ache under his ribs. It’s all the small things he keeps noticing, not just the marks; the way Jamie’s dark eyes follow him, on and off the ice, the quiet moments where they don’t need to say anything at all. If that’s not what soulmates are, then - he doesn’t know. Tyler doesn’t know.

Winter solstice marks are commonly believed to _mean_ something, even compared to fall and summer and spring.

Forget Christmas. All Tyler wants for Markday is Jamie.

 

-

 

Tyler isn’t sure when he manages to fall asleep, but he dreams of winter.

He dreams about winter in his hometown, the glitter of snow-covered branches and the shining surface of fresh ice on the pond. He dreams about having cold-stiff fingers bundled in fuzzy-lined mittens, determined to stay outside for another pick-up game no matter how the cold nips at his cheeks. He dreams of soft powder under his feet, lying in the snow to make snow angels and looking up at the pure, clear sky.

It’s so cold and clear that a million stars are out, studded like diamonds in the darkness above him. He stays in the snow to look up at them, even when the frost starts to cling to his eyelashes and his nose runs, a little. He’s never seen anything so beautiful.

It’s the heat that ends up waking him.

It starts as warmth gathering under his skin, flooding his chest and trickling down to his fingers in a slow seep. He frowns, half asleep, when the heat starts to burn, dull at first and then blade-sharp over his heart. Tyler gasps himself awake, fisting his fingers in the sheets, white-knuckled as the mark forms on his skin. The pain is - it’s sun-hot and searing; none of his marks have been this strong, not since the first. He clenches his teeth, willing the mark to be small, and quick.

He’s panting when it’s over, sweat-slick even though he shoved off the covers. He probes gently at the skin over his heart, feeling the raised lines and the blood-hot heat it’s still giving off. The pain fades as fast as it had come on, flaring a little as he traces over the tender skin.

Tyler presses the back of his hand over his heart, closing his eyes at the cool sensation.

He had a feeling he would get a mark, this solstice. And there’s a part of him that can’t help but hope.

It’s a mark over his heart, after all.

 

-

 

In the pale light of morning, the sunburned pink of a new mark has faded. Tyler’s stomach flips when he gets a good look at his newest mark.

It’s beautiful.

A web of stars sits over his heart, bright against the cloudy, dark-blue background of the night sky. The stars are pale silver, blue-green-white, connected with spider-like strands in an intricate constellation. He doesn’t recognize the shape, something forking and branching in long arcs of interconnected stars. They seem to twinkle a little as he breathes.

Tyler’s never seen anything like it, not on anyone’s skin. He can’t bring himself to cover it, not even to protect himself from the mild chill of Texas winter.

So it’s when he’s downstairs and brewing coffee, shirtless and googling _constellation mark_ with the boys at his feet, that he hears the soft knocks at the door.

Something coils in his stomach; he knows that knock. _Jamie._ It’s early, though, so early - Jamie hadn’t said anything about stopping by, this morning or last night. Loaded glances as they left the AAC last night don’t count; it doesn’t matter if Tyler had been thinking it, trying to mentally broadcast to Jamie that maybe, _maybe._

He grabs a hoodie from the back of his chair, zipping it up halfway. Tyler’s heart roars like thunder in his ears, pulse thrumming as he approaches the door. Gerry follows and noses at the back of his knee, cool and wet, and Tyler buries his fingers in Gerry’s blond fur.

Of course it’s Jamie. It’s Jamie with sleep-mussed hair he’s hastily pushed off his face, eyes wide and cheeks pink like he ran over, rather than drove. He’s thrown on a pair of basketball shorts, and - Tyler can’t help but bite his lip and smile. Jamie’s wearing _socks and sliders_ , like he was too desperate to get out the door for real shoes, and somehow it’s the cutest thing Tyler’s ever seen.

He’d chirp Jamie for it, if he could get out a word besides “hey” past the lump of hope in his throat. As it is, he can hear the tremor in his own voice.

“Ty,” Jamie breathes, sounding about as wrecked as Tyler feels, stepping in to close the distance between them. His shoes scuff softly on the pavement. “Please tell me that you - ”

They’re on the threshold of the door when Jamie’s eyes track down and he catches sight of the dark color on Tyler’s chest, peeking out from the vee of the zipper; he can tell the moment it happens from Jamie’s half-gasp, the soft noise he makes in his throat. He shivers.

“Jamie,” he says softly, nearly shaking as Jamie reaches up and pushes the fabric off his shoulder with gentle fingers, tremors running across his skin. Jamie’s fingertips are warm where they carefully brush across the tender mark, still slightly pink and sensitive. Tyler flushes even more at the attention; Jamie’s eyes are locked on the pattern over his heart. “ _Jamie_.”

That’s when he notices, through the faded fabric of Jamie’s tee - one of the well-worn cotton one he’s ripped the collar out of ages ago and only wears around the house - something dark and blue over his heart. And it’s hard to tell through the heathered fabric, thin as it is, but Tyler likes to think he’s pretty familiar with Jamie’s body at this point.

It’s - it’s gotta be.

“Jamie,” he whispers, dragging his eyes away from the mark - _their mark_ \- to Jamie’s face, to see his desperation mirrored there.

Tyler opens his mouth to ask - it must be, he _knows_ \- but Jamie gets there first.

Jamie’s lips are soft and warm against his, tempered by the rasp of his beard against Tyler’s cheek. His eyes flutter closed as Jamie cups his chin with one hand, the other still pressed like a brand over his mark, over his heart. A noise escapes Tyler’s throat as their mouths move together, something bright and weightless filling his chest.

 _Yes._ A thousand times, yes.

“Let me see it,” Tyler murmurs against Jamie’s lips, kisses at the grin that appears there. He’s always wanted to kiss the smile off Jamie’s face.

Jamie laughs breathlessly. “I’m not taking my shirt off on your front step just so you can oogle me.”

“Then you better come inside,” Tyler says, leaving a final, lingering kiss on Jamie’s mouth. It’s almost agony to pull away, even only far enough away so they can breathe. “Please, c’mon - I have to see it - ”

“Yeah, c’mon,” Jamie repeats, backing him up through the entryway and closing the door with a kick once they’re inside. They don’t make it far - Jamie pins him up against the wall and they kiss and kiss, Tyler impatiently scrabbling at Jamie’s shoulders and plucking at the hem of his shirt. The weight of Jamie’s body against him is deliciously distracting, but he _has_ to see the mark for himself.

“Don’t make me rip it off you,” he threatens between kisses, and Jamie just huffs another laugh. With enough shoving at his shoulders he goes, though - leaning as far as Tyler’s arms wrapped around his waist will allow so that he can pull the shirt over his head, letting it fall from his limp fingers and onto the floor, forgotten.

Tyler stares.

“It’s always been you,” Jamie says quietly, nosing along Tyler’s forehead affectionately as Tyler bends, traces the spider-web lines connecting the stars with his fingers. Identical. Completely, undeniably identical. It’s almost more than he’s dreamed of, finally seeing a matching mark over Jamie’s heart. His throat closes as he swallows thickly.

“It’s always been you, too,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the constellation. He smiles at Jamie as he straightens, unable to keep the joy off his face. “Lucky me, huh? Upgraded from liney to soulmate.”

The hands on Tyler’s hips squeeze lightly, possessively. “Soulmate,” Jamie says, as if trying out how the word feels in his mouth. He smiles. “I like the sound of that.”

 

-

 

Jamie kisses every single mark on Tyler’s skin. He’s at turns gentle and biting, tender-soft and just this side of rough with a little bit of tongue. His ministrations are meticulous and reverent - every once in a while he pulls away from Tyler’s skin just to look at him, beaming and brimming with happiness. He covers Tyler’s body with his own, and Tyler can’t imagine another place on Earth that he’d rather be than here.

It doesn’t escape Tyler’s notice that he pays special attention to the marks that are his, that are _theirs_. He kisses the center of the compass rose, fixes his mouth at the apex of one of the points and sucks a hickey into place. Tyler rolls his eyes even as he hitches his hips, rocking them together. Jamie kisses the anchor, too, once he gets Tyler on his belly - though he really doesn’t have much presence of mine to concentrate on that one, not when he’s so consumed by how they move together.

And _oh_ , do they move well together like this, just like with everything else.

Jamie traces the fine detail of the full moon on Tyler’s collar as they lay together, feet tangled and pressed close, damp and content. “I should have known then,” he murmurs, thumbing around the moon, smoothing over the halo of hazy clouds that surround it.

Tyler hums, cracks an eye open to look at Jamie sleepily. “Known what when?”

“That we were meant for each other,” Jamie says, just like that - like it’s an easy fact, not something they’ve been dancing around for years. Tyler’s heart jumps to his throat; he’s fully awake, now. “It’s so obvious - I already knew that I was in love with you. I always hoped these were for me, but I was scared that they weren’t. Together, though - it’s undeniable.”

Jamie wiggles his arm out from underneath Tyler to bend it at the elbow, show off the sun marking the inside of his bicep. The sky around it is crystalline blue, framing the white-gold sun and the faint beams streaming from it. He holds it up to Tyler’s shoulder for them to compare - and yeah, side by side it’s pretty clear. The sun and moon are the same size, inked on their skin with the same delicate style. _I already knew I was in love with you._

“I mean,” Tyler swallows, tearing his eyes away from Jamie’s sun to the pattern of stars over his heart. He traces the lines between them gently with the tips of his fingers. It’s still a little hard to believe it’s real. “I’ve felt like you were mine and I was yours for - years before _this_. But it means a lot to see them match.”

“Yeah,” Jamie whispers, eyes crinkling as he smiles. “It does. They’re perfect.”

He doesn’t have to lean very far to capture Tyler’s lips in a kiss.

He’s right. They’re perfect.

 

-

 

Jamie’s the one that ends up finding it.

“It’s Perseus,” he says, holding his phone up for the two of them to see together. The image Jamie’s pointing to - a field of thousands of stars on a cloudy black sky - is punctuated by a dozen brighter stars. Someone’s drawn over it, connecting the biggest ones together into a constellation exactly like the ones over their hearts. “The hero. He’s supposed to be holding a sword over his head. Says here that it’s bright enough to be seen even on skies that aren’t very dark - we’ll have to go look for it, sometime.”

Tyler snuggles closer into Jamie’s chest, puts his head over Jamie’s heart, right over the mark.

“I think I’m done looking,” he says, smiling.

 

-

 

In the end, his years in Dallas give him this: an anchor, a compass rose, a full moon, the constellation Perseus, a soulmate, the Stanley Cup, and a ring.

Those last few aren’t actually marks, but that’s okay. The marks are a nice reminder, but he doesn’t need them to understand what he feels about what’s right in front of him.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr at [venvephe!](http://venvephe.tumblr.com/)  
> I'm also [venvephe](https://www.pillowfort.io/venvephe) over on pillowfort!  
> For hockey-focused content, I'm [tigerseguin91!](http://tigerseguin91.tumblr.com/)
> 
>  
> 
> I'm also on twitter:  
> @[venvephe](https://twitter.com/venvephe)  
> @[ven_writes](https://twitter.com/ven_writes) (for more writing-centric twittering!)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [I drew a line for you](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17341652) by [goldenmagikarp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenmagikarp/pseuds/goldenmagikarp)




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